<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>You are my source of peace by maxbegone</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29142039">You are my source of peace</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/maxbegone/pseuds/maxbegone'>maxbegone</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Silver dreams bring me to you [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fix-It of Sorts, Hurt/Comfort, Husbands, Introspection, Post-Canon, Skincare</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 08:06:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,494</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29142039</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/maxbegone/pseuds/maxbegone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Patrick understands. An hour ago, after they’d ordered room service and changed into more comfortable clothing, Patrick took the lead and laid David bare. He kissed every inch of skin he’d missed over the last few days, took his time with his husband’s heart and soul — he always does — until David was sniffing into his shoulder, flat on his back, muttering, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>A coda to <i><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28895595">How will I let you slip through?</a></i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Patrick Brewer/David Rose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Silver dreams bring me to you [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2138886</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>228</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>You are my source of peace</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a little peek into the events after <i>How will I let you slip through?</i> This is also (oh my god) my <i>50th</i> Schitt's Creek fic! For those of you who have read everything or anything I've posted over the last year-ish, thank you so much! Here's to 50 more! </p><p>Title from When The Rain Starts by Infinity Song</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p2">
  <em>Coda</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There’s such an intimacy in being known, and Patrick understands it’s a bit scary. It’s scary for him and it’s scary for David, especially when his husband has dealt with years of heartbreak which have blossomed into tightly-kept fears.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patrick hasn’t been through it to the degree that David has; in fact the only time he ached so badly for someone was after Rachel showed up at the motel at the barbecue. That was a few years ago, their relationship has mended for the better — not to mention she adores David. Patrick should have known to never introduce the two; they always gang up on him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s fitting, though. He and Stevie do the same to David.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">This past week rivaled that hurt. He watched as David moved away from all contact, physical and otherwise. At night he’d sleep with his back to Patrick, a good foot between them. It felt like miles, continents. But he knew better than to force it out of David when he wasn’t ready to talk.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Uprooted insecurities were to blame here, stirred up by Alexis, but they brought David’s real worries forward. It was a blessing in the smallest form, in the sense that it got them both to talk about something that would come up sooner or later. Then again, Patrick isn't exactly thrilled with Alexis right now, but he’ll get over it in time. She’s family, after all.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Now, however, the space between them is smaller as they lay in the hotel bed facing each other, naked with the covers hiked up to their shoulders. Most of which are on top of David, not that he’s complaining. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patrick takes note of everything that surrounds them: the mattress is just a little too soft, the sheets are scratchy, and the room itself smells vaguely of cigarettes but not enough to make him march downstairs to the front desk and ask for a change.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He takes note of David, too, the way one arm is tucked up beneath the pillow, his left hand flat between them. He’s wearing his rings today, all of them, four of which he can’t see but Patrick can make out his wedding band in the soft light that spills through the curtains. David’s hair is tousled, his freckled shoulders hunched, lashes fanned out over his cheeks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He lifts a hand to push a misplaced strand from David’s forehead. His husband stirs at the touch, eyes fluttering open and he smiles sweetly against the pillow.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And while his eyes look brighter, Patrick is no stranger to the thoughts that swirl beyond them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hi.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hi, honey,” David whispers nuzzling further into the mattress. “You okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patrick nods. “I’m okay. What about you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He lets out a heavy sigh, eyes flitting up toward the ceiling momentarily. “Drained,” he finally admits with a half-hearted shrug. “Gonna take me a sec to get my energy back.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patrick understands. An hour ago, after they’d ordered room service and changed into more comfortable clothing, Patrick took the lead and laid David bare. He kissed every inch of skin he’d missed over the last few days, took his time with his husband’s heart and soul — he always does — until David was sniffing into his shoulder, flat on his back, muttering, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patrick had wiped away his tears, cleaned them both up and let David doze off without consequence.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He promised a long time ago that he would respect David and take care of him in every way deemed necessary. And well, if it meant letting him sleep or cry, then Patrick had no qualms about that.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Healing is different with everyone.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Even though he’s completely logistical in the sense that, for himself, Patrick needs to keep busy and work hard, David’s taught him that sulking is okay, too. Rest is important.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">God, he’s so grateful for David Rose. Not a day passes where he isn’t.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s okay,” Patrick replies softly. He sets a careful hand on his cheek and brushes a thumb long the line of stubble. “Hungry? There’s still some food leftover.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mm, I’m okay. Think I’m gonna shower.” David moves just the slightest bit, pushing the covers down and immediately hisses. “Freezing,” he manages before actually standing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patrick watches as he gathers up his discarded pajamas and toiletry bag and heads into the bathroom. He gives David a few minutes of privacy before grabbing his own things and joining him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The room his filled with steam when Patrick pushes the door open. He drops his things on the counter, slipping his ring off to set beside David’s as the shower curtain slides open to reveal his husband’s reddened face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Can I join you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Wordlessly, David moves the curtain further down the rail, allowing Patrick to hop in behind him. He takes over massaging shampoo into David’s hair, then conditioner, running his fingers through his silken tresses. Patrick runs a loofah over David’s body, inhaling the scent of tea tree oil and lavender, kissing his warm skin with each pass he makes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Once David’s done, he steps out, allowing Patrick to work through his own shower routine and sure enough, David is holding out a towel for him when he shuts the water. Patrick dries himself off, smiling at David in the cleared patches of the foggy mirror. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He warms at the familiarity, the domesticity they’ve been missing for the last several days; David with a towel twisted up on his head, Patrick as he merely runs one over his hair. David scoffs, sure, but his face does this soft and lovely thing when he uncaps the moisturizer he’d been making Patrick use for years now and rubs it into his face and neck.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s about to offer tea, maybe a few of the shortbreads he’d packed, too, but Patrick is caught off-guard by the way David’s leaning against the counter and holding out a small circular jar.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patrick knows that jar all too well. He smiles as he takes it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You have a steady hand,” David says, his lips disappearing between his teeth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sit down.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He twists of the cap of the under eye serum David has been using since before the store even launched, the scent of eucalyptus bringing Patrick back to the first time he did this for him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Their relationship was still very new, just a few weeks old, as he glided the pad of his thumb along the delicate skin of David’s under eye. They were more level with each other then, David was sitting on one of their display tables and Patrick was standing between his legs; now he’s standing in the same position, but David sits on the lid of a closed toilet in a hotel in Elm Valley.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patrick dips a thumb into the jar. “I love when you let me do this,” he says, dragging the cream in gentle strokes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mm, me, too.” David stares up at Patrick, looking far more relaxed than he did even when he was asleep. “Lets me zone out.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh yeah?” Patrick switches to the other eye. “Thinking about anything in particular?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Your hands, mostly,” he replies with a light laugh. There’s the humor he’s been missing. “You’re good with them.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m good with my hands, huh?” Patrick gives him a wink.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay. Thinking about you, too. Like, in general,” David says and Patrick stops. “That I’m lucky to have you. And I know that we can talk about this things." He makes little circles with his hands and adds, “The stuff that scares us. Right?"</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Of course, baby.” Patrick recaps the jar and sets it aside so he can lean down and kiss David. “You know that. I’m not going anywhere. I said it before and I’ll say it again: I will never get tired of you.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">David laughs again, wetly this time. “Not even if we get so stuck in a routine or-or if I turn into my mother somehow?” He shakes himself like he’s trying to rid himself of the thought. “Because <em>that </em>would be a nightmare.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nothing,” Patrick repeats.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What about when I inevitably start sprouting grey hairs and this,” he gestures to what hides beneath his towel, “disappears?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“See, now I think you’re just fishing for compliments, but especially not then. I’m a man of my word you know that: I <em>will </em>grow old with you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“God—“ David sniffs, blinking up toward the ceiling. “We just did the serum,” he says, patting around for it again. “Don't make me reapply it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patrick kisses him between his eyebrows, smoothing away the deep, slanted line. “What’s next?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Uh…” David reaches for a small bottle with an eyedropper. “This. It’s a hydrating serum. I did some other stuff before…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patrick knows this one. He’s seen David apply it countless times before, and he’s done it himself once or twice. He presses a drop to his forehead and cheeks, recapping it before pressing the fragrant serum into his skin. “I have a question.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“O-okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you honestly think that you would ever grow tired of me?” David shakes his head. “What about when I’m old and grey?” He shakes his head again. “Or if I turned into <em>my</em> mother.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Your mother is a saint. If you turn into her, you better inherit her baking skillset.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patrick’s lips fall into that downturned smile. “What if I did nothing but talk business and sports for the rest of my life.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">David smirks. “Oh, well I think that’s inevitable,” he says, playing with the hem of Patrick’s tee. “But, no. I’ll never get tired of you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good to know.” Patrick kisses him again, slowly and pours as much love into it as he can.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">David pulls away with a soft breath, but only enough so that their noses are touching. “Patrick?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“David?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you know what I ask myself every day?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patrick shakes his head. “What’s that?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">David goes quiet, lips tucking away again briefly and he swallows. His hands find a spot on Patrick’s hips, giving him a gentle squeeze through his sleep pants. “I ask myself how I got so lucky.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s Patrick’s turn to tear up now, so it seems. He shuts his eyes. “David I—<em>hm.</em> What’s next?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Moisturizer,” he whispers. “Green jar.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patrick massages the cream into David’s skin, watching as it blends away, minding how it builds up a bit over the coarse hairs on his jaw. “I ask myself the same thing, you know.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He feels David’s cheeks pull as he smiles. “You do?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I do. I watch everything you do, David, and you never cease to amaze me. You’re incredible, you know that?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t—I don’t think I’m incredible…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, well I think so.” Patrick brings his arms to rest on David’s shoulders, once again kissing his now dewey skin. “You are the most incredible man I’ve ever met. I know you, David. Inside and out, so I know when you’re hurting. And I know when you’re ridiculously happy about something, like when Twyla brought the seven layer fudge cake into rotation at the café.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, don’t say that. You’re making me want cake now,” he groans, tilting his head back. “I love you, Patrick.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I love you, David. So no matter what, even when you you’re at your lowest, I’m going to be right by your side. I’m not leaving you. Never.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s enough to make David fall forward, pressing his face into Patrick’s stomach as he sighs then sniffs heavily, choking back a sob. Patrick lets him cry, he knows he needs it — god, they both do — and carefully removes the towel from where it sits on David’s head. He lets hot tears roll down his cheeks as he combs his fingers through the damp curls that spring out from underneath.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His husband could break him into a million pieces and put him back together perfectly each and ever time, and Patrick doesn’t think he could ever not be thrilled by the prospect of being known by David Rose.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">In the early days of their relationship when Patrick would surprise him with a silly little gift to mark their anniversary every month, David was still holding so much back. He was scared of jinxing it all. And Patrick knew that, he was never one to push and he never will be. But showing David how easy it was for Patrick to love him…he couldn’t keep himself from doing that.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They both needed time to grow and adjust in their own ways; for Patrick, it took nearly thirty-some-odd years. And they’re both still growing, still learning things about each other.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When he stood up and sung to him — even when he does now, cycling in acoustic renditions of some of David’s favorite songs — it was with an outpouring of love. Patrick knew it then, that he loved David, that he <em>could </em>love David, but it was still too soon to say the words.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Now, they say it daily, multiple times over. It’s as easy as breathing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patrick has allowed David to really know him, more than anyone else in his life. Sometimes he needs the reminder just as much as David does. And sometimes it really takes his breath away how much he loves this man.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Right now, Patrick knows David is still aching. And David knows where to hold him as Patrick presses his face into his neck. It’ll take a few days, maybe weeks, for David to feel steady on his feet again. He’ll encourage him to look for a therapist but never push, and he’ll discourage David letting Alexis get in his head like she did when they fight.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He leans back, tilting David’s head up and wiping away both of their tears. “Let’s go to bed, baby,” Patrick whispers.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But before David stands, he reaches for their wedding bands that sit by the sink. He picks up Patrick’s, taking his left hand in his own and slips it onto his ring finger. Patrick does that same, pressing a kiss to the band once it’s in place. He doesn’t reach for David’s engagement rings, he knows he never sleeps with them on. Their wedding bands are a different story entirely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patrick keeps his arms wrapped around David the whole night, letting some movie play on the TV in the background while they make out lazily and slowly march toward healing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">In some strange, repressed way, Patrick felt scarily close to losing David this week. Not all of David, not all together, but just some small part he feared he’d never get back.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But tonight, it’s different. All of that fear washed away and in its place cemented promises, whispered and repeated over and over again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patrick knows David, knows his fears, and he knows that nothing<em>, </em>absolutely <em>nothing, </em>will change how much he loves him. Patrick Brewer will never not call David Rose his husband.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He is, after all, a man of his word.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading! You can find me <a href="maxbegone.tumblr.com">@maxbegone</a> on tumblr!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>